Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Hard Times


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O._J._Simpson

For many years, most of the American public has known that OJ Simpson should have been given a "Guilty" verdict during his infamous murder trial, but all of us were denied justice on that day. We watched in mute horror as Judge Ito delivered his ruling during a live televised event, and just like the day we learned Elvis Presley died alone on a toilet from a drug overdose that was a long time coming, we were mute with shock and horror from the news of it. I remember the room I was in was almost split firmly in half, giving it the hard-fought appearance of a race war that was finally won, as the blacks cheered on from yet another bad decision made supposedly in their good faith from the powers that be, racially mixed as so many of us are here, which makes the cynicism behind their race-baiting tactics worse still.

Just who did they think they were fooling? You, my lovingly devoted public, and they did so in great numbers, with as many resources and skills that you don't (still) share their access to. For years afterwards, we listened to local media legend Howard Stern (a.k.a. "The King of All Media")  interview the parents of Ron Goldman live on-air, as they fought a public battle in the civil courts to block what we knew often followed a guilty celebrity's second step towards their personal recovery, through lucrative contracts that give coveted media outlets sole access to his story, aired on cheesy cable t.v. biopics designed in conjunction with television executives invested in recouping their "losses" through enrichment from his trials.

In short, everyone involved in money-making ventures became complicit in his crimes, too. We were aghast throughout this nation watching L.A. burn in riots, marred with public looting, and destroyed with repeatedly brutal police beatings aired on the evening news over and over again in pointless repetition (since so many of us remember the civil rights wars of our painful pasts), only to see our fellow Americans once again dragged through the mud by the deliberately commercial manipulation of their pain, over a shameful history that we also share with them, but how to reach out in such times of mayhem? And that was the point, too; it forced you to see sharply separated halves that were falsely colored strictly "black or white" by the same biracial people made to backup O.J.'s cover-ups with payoffs and bribes, because there wasn't anyway profit to be had from the truth.

Today we take a stand to air out our joint closets in this springtime of our many youths gone by, in the eternal hope that we can be made whole again is His Coming Glory, which you can. That's the "Good News"! We don't have to ever go back to the pain and darkness again, fresh as we can be made with our accurate human accounts the world over. We have everything to share in common friendship, in continued harmony and brotherly love, as we close doors to those pasts that can be made to rise like so many skeletons in so many closets, in the false hope that the dead tell no tales.


That is not true, my dears! As any scientist, academic, or scholar (even amateur) will tell you, bones cannot be made to lie. They only tell the truth, because just like our genetic pasts, the blood will out our stories in the event of our absence anyway, if such were to be the case. How? I'm so glad you asked! Well, just as we always suspected, O.J. is a complete fucking criminal, and he did what we, the well-informed public, always knew he would: he got caught committing another crime, trying to get back his own memorabilia, from the very same corrupt people he'd already sold them to, with a disastrously illegal break-in. And just as he stole our real stories from us way back when, we can right it with this truth, in an epic bon mot of how those "powers that be" worked: O.J., ever the star, complained about his access in prison to broad-based cable television, seeing as his jail is on a tight budget. They can only afford basic cable there. Too bad!

"Awww!" Come on, chime in everyone! That's too bad. In the aftermath, we have him where we were meant to be for his crimes, in atonement. What can he do to escape his final punishment? Give up the goods, man! Tell us about your football-based brain injuries covered up by men far more powerful and wealthier than you, as a young player looking to buy his way out of hard times, taking yo' po' family from the ghetto along for the ride, right? Tell us about your concussions, go for those MRIs, spill about the CTE brain disease that made your psychosis and violence far worse than it had to be, with every hard knock you got on a football field full of African-American men, fronted with cash and watched by a mostly European-American audience in the stands. Talk to me. Talk to yo' mama who made you gladly...and then? After that? Talk to Your Father. Talk to your Loving Creator who made you in His Image, and repent. The time has come. The time is now. Amen to you. We are Legion.


Eliminate any incriminating evidence believed to be found at the scene of the crime, then blame it all on a detective with a supposedly checkered past: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Fuhrman  
Destroy more evidence: http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1998-07-30 
Blame it all on racism, and watch the world burn from a safe distance on t.v.

Us? We wait. And wait. And then we waited some more, working as we do at our daily labors. And then, finally, in the end, we always win, armed with nothing more glamorous than the truth. That's how.
http://www.wmcactionnews5.com/story/7082028/oj-simpson-tells-police-he-was-reclaiming-sports-memorabilia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/League_of_Denial 
http://www.today.com/news/frank-gifford-suffered-chronic-traumatic-encephalopathy-cte-family-says-t58231 

Monday, January 12, 2015

Folk Art: The Bazzanobago


Grrrrrr >:( It's game time! Get your "gameface" on!!

I'll just put it right out there by saying it bluntly: "guineas" love cars. Guidos have a big hot rod history here in the tri-state area, which is ironic to me, because my Italian-American grandmother never learned how to drive. She didn't have to because she was from the city and it was unnecessary. Besides, that was my grandfathers' job, because he liked cars and taking care of them. My grandma liked sitting in the passenger seat, so she could look out the window and relax, like a real Queen would. It was so cute!

But starting with junior high school, the kids in my town started going nuts about cars quickly, their hormones linking up to mechanical equipment that goes fast like peanut butter goes with jelly, and why not? This country has tons of curvy hilly back roads that are a blast to drive. Our humble little county goes dead at night, and as teens, we took full advantage of that road freedom to turn off the headlights and turn a mountain pass into a scary roller coaster ride. 

I had family that lived over the Bear Mountain Bridge, and the fastest route from here to there in this single terrifyingly narrow road with a tiny guardrail between the mountain side and the Hudson River lurking way down below. In the winter (just in time for Christmas holidays), it freezes with a fierce ferocity that randomly drops huge chunks of ice onto the road, making you swerve into another tiny single lane of murky incoming traffic that was blurred by the river's thick blanket of fog and the alcohol my parents may have ingested. We always made it home, but it was often an unwelcome white knuckle ride.


"Jetting" away, but still makin' stops.

As a result, I've learned to have a healthy respect for the climate here, and the dangerous twists of weather that occur so quickly, you have no choice but to drive through it. I'm an excellent and safe driver, but such is not the case with a lot of my friends, family, and neighbors. As their 80s mullets grew in, so did the cheesy red cars their parent's bought them for their 16th birthday fill the parking lot before school started each morning, making it a testosterone-fueled danger of its' own, with smirking, nastily leering boys sitting on car hoods wearing big gold chains. Uh, pass.

I love cars, but unfortunately, they tend to be of the suavely cool 60s kind, hard to drive and even harder to maintain. Sigh. C'est la vie. Luckily for me, my paisans in Pearl River have cars and trucks so weird, that the garage next door has turned into a cooler and less scary version of that high school parking lot of my youth, with a procession of tricked out pieces appearing every week. 

Also lucky for me, it's football season, another big boy-time filled with beer, food, parking lots, and cars. Every time I see this proper GuineaMobile back for a tune-up, I smile to myself. Can't you just hear their conversation? I wonder what their horn sounds like? It's another piece of Rococo genius, the owner having rigged a series of ever-smaller orange horns in descending order behind the front grill, and that's just fun.

Enjoy the game, guys! Have a great season, and have a beer (or two) for me.

The 'Bago's back!